Diamond in the Rough: Chapter 21

Jack went to his typical spot to wait for Jenna for lunch.  Then, he saw her, walking toward him, her hair was flying in the breeze.  It really was too cold to be eating outside, but they were doing it anyway, to get away from the standard cafeteria crowd.  She sat down and said, "It's not that bad today.  A little warmer here in the sun."

"I think we need to find a new location.  Soon, it will be really really cold.  Our milk will freeze."

She laughed, and took out her sketch book.  She handed a new picture to Jack.  This one was of a strong man, and a boy, their backs to the viewer.  The man had his hand on the boy's back.  She said, "I did this for you.  Something I see between you and your father."

Jack had a lump in his throat and tried to quell it by swallowing some milk.  It didn't help.  He brushed away a tear that was threatening to trail down his cheek and expose him.  

Jenna noticed, and said, "I've done something wrong."

Jack sniffed, and waited until he was certain his voice would not tremble.  "No, you didn't.  This is great."

"What is it, Jack?  Something's wrong.  I could tell the moment that I got here."

He sucked in air, and took a bite of sandwich.  It wasn't going down well.  I wish this milk was tequila.  "It's nothing, really."  He was lying to her.  The thing he had promised himself he would never do to someone he cared for, the way he cared for her.

"Okay, if you would rather not talk about it, you can say that, you know."

A long time passed in silence.  "I want to."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Yeah, I do.  I just . . . it's hard."

She said nothing.  She just put her hand out to him, and he took it, and she held it for a moment.  Her hands were very cold, and his larger one was warm.  He said, "We should go inside, and sit in the hall.  No one will notice until the next period."

They agreed, and went in.  Sitting in the hallway, propped against a wall in the least used passageway, they faced the large windows that lined the courtyard.  He said, "Something happened."

"What was it, if you are ready to say it."

She still had his hand.

"My father. . . he's been having like these flashes of memory.  It wakes him sometimes."  He felt his throat tightening. 

Jenna said, "It's okay, just go slow.  Or you can stop if you can't go on."  He swallowed.  She took his sandwich from him, letting go of his hand, and wrapped it back up and put it into his bag.  "For later," she said.  He so wished she would take his hand back.   

He said, "I don't know why, but a while back, at like four in the morning, I heard my mother, far away, calling him.  To make it short, I went outside and she was trying to find him in the yard.  We basically live in a mansion, and the yard is bigger than. . . well bigger than this entire school."

She nodded, and her hand finally slipped back into his.

He continued, "So, I went out to help.  He was a mess, but they made up some shit story about him going on night runs.  He had no shoes on, like I wouldn't notice.  I just . . . want to help, but there's nothing I can do."

"My God," she said, "he's still that guilty, over what happened?"

Jack knew the conversation was going to come to this at some point.  "It's way beyond what happened twenty years ago.  Seriously.  There's so much more . . . I was researching, and I found out how he disappeared when I was little."

"How?" She felt nervous, but she faced it anyway, knowing he needed to talk about it.

"He was angry at some guy, don't know much about him, some Mitch guy.  He had vowed to get back at him for bad stuff the guy did to my Aunt Viki, my mother, my cousins.  The guy handcuffed him to the inside of a . . ."  he stopped.  He felt his stomach rumbling, and he had to take some deep breaths.  

Jenna noticed, and said, "Hey, breathe slower for a minute.  Here," she said, handing him her water bottle.  He took it and drank some.  It felt much better than the milk going down.  She said, "You don't have to say the rest, but I think you might need to."

"He was handcuffed inside a mausoleum.  Where dead people are put?  In my family, there's like a house where everyone goes after they die.  Anyway, the guy came back, and tied and gagged my father, and put him in the coffin with his dead father's body.  And he closed the lid."

"He was still alive?"  Her eyes were wide.

"Yeah.  A while later, my mother went to look for him, and he was gone.  Someone had moved him from the crypt.  There was no way he could have gotten the lid off himself.  We found out later that someone did move him, and handed him over to the kidnappers who kept him and tortured him for eight years."  He stopped, and took a breath, giving her pause to respond if she wanted.  

She was quiet.

He went on.  "And that's where he was, for all those years."

"This is haunting you."

He nodded.  "The grave thing, it's just sick.  It's too much." He sighed, "That's not even really the worst of it.  I mean, for me, it is.  I kind of have a fear of it.  Or something.  Dad said it was nothing compared to being without us and Mom.  He had her picture in his hand, I guess."

Jenna brushed a tear off her own face.  "He had her picture?"

"Gripped in his hand.  It was their picture.  Of their wedding."  

"And this still bothers him?"  

"No.  The thing is, the new stuff that's bugging him, I don't even think it has to do with any of this.  I think it comes from his childhood.  I don't know for sure, but that's what I think.  His adoptive father was a damn freak."

She shook her head softly.  "Then it's no wonder he ran outside in the middle of the night.  He just wants to get away from it.  Whatever it is.  He was running away, almost.  He must be . . . so tormented."

Her answer made so much sense to him, right then, he looked into her eyes, and he said, "Thanks.  For understanding."

"It's okay.  I think the bell rang a while ago, though.  We might get in trouble."

He said, "Let's go to guidance.  They know me, they know I'm in therapy, they'll write us a pass."

"You sure?"

"Listen, I know the ropes," he said, and smiled.  He still had her hand, and he looked down to it.  "stick with me."

"I will," she said.

***

Todd got out of the tub, and changed.  She was already dressed and fussing with Little Ray in the other room.  She knows how to get to me.  How I feel when I'm with her.  She's . . . she's Blair.  He pondered life without her for a few minutes, and then headed back to his office to work.

He picked up the pile of letters that was on the desk where he had left it.  Some were strewn around from when Blair had thrown them.  He admitted to himself that he loved her feisty and a little pissed.  She stirred everything within him in many different ways; her voice, her petulance, her tenderness, her pain.  Get on the ball, Manning.  Stick to your guns on this.  No sense taking them all down with you.  "Now, let's look through these letters." 

In scanning the third letter in the pile, he came across something he felt might be of importance: 

My darlings, I do miss you.  I've become involved with such a special thing, it's very rewarding.  It's the Statesville Outreach Program for Inmates.  It's a way to share the word of God with those who need it most.  I've really enjoyed my time doing this so far.  I'll be writing more as it goes, and let you know how it's proceeding.  I love you both, my babies.  I'll speak with you soon.  Expect a call in a few days.  

Sharing God's word?  Hmf, Rebecca.  Almost forgot about her.  For a fleeting moment, he saw her.  Her dark curls framing her innocent face.  He knew he did love her once, as much as he could have loved someone at that time in his life.  What if Jenna's mom met an inmate, who got out, and then killed her?  He thought back to his misdeeds with Rebecca in tow.  Kidnapping, accidental murder.  He had almost . . . it had come close to a murder-suicide at one point.  Now, he could only see it as his darkness taking over and running in the lead in his head.  He would have never met Blair if he had pulled that trigger . . .

"Todd, you busy?"  It was the voice that pulled him back from the edge so many times.  

"Hey, Blair, sort of.  What's up?"

"I'm headed over to Capricorn to get things going for the art show.  You want to come, or are you kind of involved?"

"Working on these letters.  I'd like to finish.  Can you do it on your own?"

"Sure.  I have Starr to help, and the staff.  I'll be fine.  See you later."  She vanished from the door frame, and for a moment, he imagined her, sitting across from him, touching his bandaged hand.  It was the first time she had really touched him.  He closed his eyes.  "Blair.  Not going to be easy leaving you.  But what else can I do to protect them from whatever is going on with me?"  He shuffled through the letters and heard Jack and Sam running up the stairs.  

Sam came to the door.   "Dad, is tonight that art thing?"

"Yep."

"Hi, Dad."  Jack said.

"Hey, Jack.  How was school?  Was Jenna nervous?"

"She was but she was so grateful.  Thanks again, Dad, for what you're doing."

"It's not much, but you're welcome."

"Dad, am I allowed to go?"  Sam asked.

"Sure, if you really want to."

"I do.  I want to see Jack's girlfriend's pictures."

"I see."

Sam ran off, and Jack turned to Todd.  "This is the coolest."  Jack said.

"It is pretty cool.  Glad you think so."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to find her mother?  I mean, can you?"

"I'm trying Jack," he said, pushing the letter into the pile.  "I'll let you know if I come up with something."

"Thanks," he said, walking off.

"And your mother said black tie.  Okay?"  Todd called after him.

"Okay."

He took another letter off the pile, and opened it.  He skimmed it until he got toward the center of the page:

Today was an amazing day.  I went back to Statesville for the outreach program and met a lot of interesting people.  There is one inmate, Michael, that I really think I can help.  He already has a strong interest in God, and he wants to listen.  Today, we read the Bible together.  I think I could make a difference.  I'll let you know what happens with this.  It is making my life feel worthwhile.  Speak to you later, by phone.  Love you both.

"So, Michael, who are you?  What were you doing in Statesville?  And more importantly, are you still there?"

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